


Brains Over Beauty

by wandmaker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-06
Updated: 2007-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:24:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9893834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandmaker/pseuds/wandmaker
Summary: What if young Merope Gaunt had turned out to be a powerful witch instead of a squib? How would history have changed? (Written for The Dusk Til Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest.) Slash and het (Harry/Severus, MG/TR, mention of TMR/LE, mpreg, brief under-18.





	1. 1. "Merope"

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

"MEROPE"

 

When she was four years old, little Merope Gaunt knew that she came from a mean, stupid, ugly family.

MEAN. STUPID. UGLY. These were visceral words, but even a toddler could understand them.

“Mean.” The dirty angry man who was her daddy. Of course, he’d beat her on her bottom and smack her on the face if she ever called him anything but “Father.” In fact, he hurt her all the time...twisting her arms and pulling her hair when she wasn’t quick enough serving his breakfast.

“Stupid.” Her older brother, Morfin . He was cruel like her daddy. He liked to put spiders in her hair and trip her on the hard floor. He couldn’t even spell his own name.

“Ugly.” Daddy had a face like a scowling monkey. Morfin looked like a mountain troll but with worse teeth. She wasn’t pretty, either. Her eyes and nose were crooked, and on the rare occasions that neighborhood children caught a glimpse of her, they made sure to remind her just how ugly she was.

But one day, something funny happened. The Gaunts (meaning her father and Morfin) didn’t ever find things funny, unless it involved torturing a salamander or crushing the windpipe of a stray kitten. Morfin also found it funny when Father twisted her wrist til it broke.

But this was a different kind of funny...in fact, a wonderful kind of funny. Merope Gaunt discovered that she could do real magic. A magic powerful enough to actually frighten the rest of her mean, ugly, stupid family.

Ha!

One moment, Father was about to box her ears for not pouring his tea quickly enough, and the next moment he was floating up against the ceiling of their rickety shack, hollering in pain. 

It all happened in a blur after that. Young Merope didn’t know why she could suddenly do such interesting new things, but it was wonderful! It seemed every time someone tried to hurt her, she could stop them just by wishing! Later on, she learned she’d just shown her first signs of magic.

Father and Morfin were very careful from then on. Father even said she could call him anything she wished as long as she stopped choking him from across the room. Morfin merely sobbed whenever she came too close. She wasn’t sure why...perhaps it had to do with the boils that were currently sprouting all over his lower body.

Daddy looked at her with awe and respect and muttered about the Gaunts becoming a powerful family again. Never would he use the word squib or any other kind of mean words when he talked to her. Daddy was like a little lamb, treating her like she was a princess. He gave her a golden locket and a thick, jeweled ring that hissed like a snake. He even showed her a rusted iron chest buried deep in the yard that was filled with musty old books. Merope thought they must contain wonderful and mysterious things, and decided she must teach herself to read.

Morfin just continued to sob and beg her to fix whatever it was she’d broken on him.

At six, Merope decided she didn’t like living in a dirty, messy house with dirty, messy people. She made everyone take baths, cut their own hair and wash every speck of grime from the walls and floors of the rickety old shack.

At seven, Merope wondered what else her magic could make people do. She found that if she concentrated very hard, she could make the neighborhood muggles give her things.

If she wanted that pretty pink hair ribbon, it was the work of a moment to “will” the snooty girl, Tina, to take it out of her own hair and hand it right over. She could “convince” that handsome older boy, Tom, to give her the rest of his Dairy Milk bar. She’d never tasted chocolate before, and even the muggle kind was heaven. Later, during a jumble sale at the nearby vicarage, Merope merely had to point out all the pretty items she wanted, and even strangers seemed delighted to hand them right over.

By the time she was ten, Merope held the village of Little Hangleton in the palm of her hand. People felt compelled to please her. They wanted to please her more than anything in the world, it seemed. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t pretty. She also kept her own family cowed. Daddy disapproved of her dealings with the muggles, but grudgingly accepted it as all some part of some deliciously evil Slytherin Master Plan. Morfin still hadn’t spoken since the boils on his bollocks, but his eyes blazed with a simmering hatred and jealousy.

Hatred she could handle. Jealousy could become a problem. Merope knew this instinctively. One day, she might be forced to eliminate the problem completely. Morfin would not be missed by anyone, after all. 

There actually was a Master Plan. Merope knew what she wanted, and if one wanted something, one had to plan, after all. She wanted beauty. Not for herself, of course. She wanted to be surrounded by beautiful things and beautiful people. She wanted to wake up every day and see prettiness reflected in the world around her. A pretty husband. Pretty children. A pretty home. Her early life had been submerged in ugliness and filth. A future existence filled with beauty was one that promised joy and delight. Perhaps even true happiness.

Such was the ultimate goal of Merope Gaunt. She wasn’t quite sure how this delicious ambition would be fulfilled, but at the age of eleven, a strange, tawny owl swooped down to deliver the parchment which gave a great clue:

TO MISS MEROPE GAUNT  
SHACK IN THE WOODS,  
THE HILL,  
LITTLE HANGLETON

Dear Miss Gaunt,  
We are pleased to offer you a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the coming fall......

 

Inside, Merope was delirious with joy. Certainly, she had known she was a powerful witch, but this was the very first acknowledgement from the outside wizarding world. She’d vaguely heard mentions of Hogwarts from the drunken ravings of her father, but no one in the Gaunt family had received an invitation for the past several centuries. That was how low the Slytherin dynasty had fallen.

The depth of this fall was reflected in the coarse, primitive faces of her father and brother. In her own dreadful plainness. But the real damage went beneath the surface – it was the madness and violence induced by generations of inter-marrying. It had very nearly bred the magic from them all. Merope shivered to think of what repulsive destiny might have awaited her had she not possessed the magic to repel the drunken advances of her so-called “family.”

Was this the ultimate fate of all purebloods? To have their magic whittle down generation after generation until they produced only madmen and squibs? If this were so, Merope vowed to never marry another pureblood. She wanted pretty, sane and powerful children. Even if that meant marrying a muggle.

She gazed up the hill at the imposing mansion, and considered the young master who lived there, all cosseted and clean, with his easy charm and handsome face.

Yes, Tom Riddle might just be the very thing.

* * * * * * * * * * 

In the end, it was the very attractive Transfiguration teacher who escorted her to a wonderful place named Diagon Alley to buy her school supplies. Everything was to be paid for from the school’s own fund. Merope didn’t care that it was charity. Nothing mattered except that the future was bright, and Prof. Dumbledore had sparkling blue eyes and lovely, long auburn hair. Looking at him gave her the same warm feeling in her tummy that she felt around young Tom Riddle.

The strange little wandmaker told her that the core in her new wand was a rare Phoenix feather, and she was destined for great things. She beamed and even Dumbledore seemed pleased for her.

When it came time for the sorting, the hat didn’t even hesitate before screaming out “Slytherin!” No surprise there, of course. She was, after all, an heir.

But did she imagine it, or was there a slightly disappointed expression on Prof. Dumbledore’s face, up there at the high table? 

Well, you couldn’t please everyone, of course. When she glanced around her new housemates, the majority of them seemed rather unpleasant. Some of them wore expressions and even features vaguely reminiscent of her brother, Morfin. And the talk during the meal seemed to revolve around all the half-bloods and mudbloods that populated all the other Hogwarts Houses.

“We’re the only pureblood House,” sneered the girl sitting next to her, “only Slytherins have pureblood pride.”

“Hmm,” she nodded agreeably. No point making any enemies, but it was clear that none of her new mates understood the price of such “pride.”

“You’re that charity pupil,” a boy wearing a Prefect badge declared.

“Yes,” Merope smiled faintly, “But then, of course, not everything is about money, is it?” She brushed her hand casually across her hair, making sure everyone could she the glimmer of her snake-like ring.

There was an audible gasp from the older students, and surprisingly (or not) no Slytherin ever called her a “charity pupil” again.

The next seven years were the happiest Merope had ever known. She was quickly established as a leader within Slytherin, and a force to be reckoned with when it came to the other three Houses. She learned charms to permanently make her appearance a little more pleasant. Surrounded by wealthy classmates, she soon developed a taste for the finer things, and was determined to find new ways to acquire them.

Compulsion charms only went so far, and never worked as well with stronger-willed wizards. There were few really handsome Slytherins, and there was no way she could even consider marrying another pureblood, anyhow. She had a crush on Professor Dumbledore. He remained a distinct possibility until she learnt he was a pureblood, as well.

By the end of her seventh year, her companions in Slytherin were intrigued by her insistence on avoiding any pureblood marriage. Some of them, for all their anti-muggle bias, began to consider the possibility that Merope might have had a point. Very slowly, minds began to change,


	2. 1. "Merope"

  
Author's notes: If Merope Gaunt had been born a powerful witch instead of a squib, how would history haved changed? (Written for The Dusk Til Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest#12) Het and slash pairings: Harry/Severus, MG/TR, mention of TMR/LE. Brief under-18  


* * *

"TOM"

 

It wasn’t until he was older that Tom Riddle, Jr. realized that his mother had used a powerful love potion on his father.

In retrospect, Tom decided it was a very good thing. Although Dad had seemed a bit befuddled most of the time, Tom could look back on a childhood filled with happy memories of two very affectionate parents.

If it wasn’t really true, who gave a damn? Isn’t that what magic was supposed to do? Give a person what he or she really wanted? Sometimes, out of thin air?

One thing that wasn’t part of any spell, was the pride his Dad felt when he looked at his handsome namesake. Even Mum had beamed, and whispered “It’s a good thing he has your looks, Tom.” Then, she poured him another cup of his favorite tea, which she had secretly dosed with more love potion. As usual, after drinking the tea, his father would get that slightly glazed expression on his face, lean over, and impulsively kiss own wife.

By eleven, Tom understood many things about the wizarding world. One, was that pureblood inter-marriage was a bad thing. All he had to do was look at Grandfather Gaunt and his creepy Uncle Morfin.

It was enough to make him swear off purebloods, forever. To never consider such a marital alliance. Tom grasped Mum’s point completely. Years from now, when the time came to wed, he would never consider anyone more than a muggleborn.

Yes, he was the Heir of Slytherin on his mother’s side, but that was meaningless if all his children were nearly Squib and insane.

Another thing Tom understood was how much his Grandmother and Grandfather Riddle despised magic. For that reason, Mum found it necessary to “persuade” them to retire to a pleasant cottage by the sea in Torquay. They seldom visited.

His Dad vaguely understood about magic, but Mum used her considerable charm to convince him of its benefits. There was violence brewing in Europe, and magic could keep his family well-protected against muggles and their deadly wars. Dad understood the implications, and relaxed his prejudices enough to allow his son to attend Hogwarts, even though his heart had been set on continuing the family tradition at Harrow.

 

TO TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE  
THE MANOR  
LITTLE HANGLETON

Dear Mr. Riddle –

We are pleased to offer you a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...

 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Tom’s first trip to Diagon Alley was a sheer delight. Dad refused to go, and Mum actually seemed quite relieved. (Apparently, love potions can be quite detectable on muggles) Dad did, however, give Mum plenty of pounds to be converted into galleons and sickles. He reiterated that his only child was to have the best of everything, even if wizard clothes seemed odd to him. It was important for his dear boy to fit in at this odd-fangled magic school.

Mum enjoyed having so much money to flash at Madame Malkin’s, even though she, herself, continued to wear the expensive cashmere twinset and pleated skirt of a genteel Muggle matron. She felt only pleasure buying her Tommy only brand-new textbooks at Flourish and Blotts. 

Mr. Ollivander had a most difficult time finding him a wand. Finally, though, he settled upon hickory wood with a Basilisk core.

Tom spent seven happy years in Slytherin, if one could forget there was a war blazing in the muggle world. On a very minor note, Grandfather Gaunt and Uncle Morfin were killed during an air raid on Little Hangleton, after his Mum “forgot” to renew the magical protections on their rickety shack. (Just in time, too, as it happened, since Little Hangleton had already been named “The Luckiest Village in England,” due to the odd coincidence of not single enemy bomb striking any building within a five-mile radius - and always falling harmlessly in some empty field, instead.)

Tom was openly relieved. He detested the Gaunts. They had been an embarrassment. He was thrilled he’d never have to give them another thought. His Dad wrote about his Mum being quiet for a couple of days, but afterwards, it seemed as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. 

Tom was a lucky boy. He had his father’s looks, and his mother’s powerful magic. There were a few disgruntled attempts at insulting his halfblood heritage, but these were short-lived. He was handsome, charming, wore Slytherin’s ring and spoke Parseltongue.

Who could argue with that?

Tom loved every class at Hogwarts, especially transfiguration. Professor Dumbledore always seemed a little hesitant around him, though. As if he were constantly waiting for another shoe to drop, or something.

The one thing Tom didn’t do during those seven years, was open the Chamber of Secrets. He knew all about it from his Mum, of course, but they both knew it was the height of foolishness to bring that much attention to oneself. The fact that they both spoke Parseltongue was generally known only to the members of Slytherin House. That had been a strategic decision, to help gain the complete acceptance of otherwise bigoted purebloods.

But what earthly purpose could there be to setting a monster loose on the student population? What was the point? And in any event, Tom and Merope completely disagreed with Salazar Slytherin’s views on muggleborns. They both believed that had their illustrious ancestor been alive today, he would have seen the sense in the idea of fresh, new blood making magic stronger, not weaker.

Tom had his own ambitions. He had grown to love Hogwarts, and he intended to some day join the staff. Dumbledore, he knew, would be there forever. In addition, McGonagall, that cute , outspoken little Gryffindor, also had ambitions in that direction. Tom enjoyed competing with her in all their classes. Her skill in transfiguration rivaled his own. If she hadn’t been a pureblood, he would have seriously considered pursuing her. Still, if he ever wanted to meet a worthy mate, it would only be amongst the half-bloods and muggleborns who flooded Hogwarts with every new year.

In any event, Defense Against the Dark Arts was another mastery that intrigued him. He decided to focus all his energies in that direction. The perfect strategy would, of course, be to do something brilliant and heroic involving Dark wizards. This annoying upstart, Grindelwald, seemed just the ticket.

Through Mum’s and his own contacts in Slytherin, he was able to get enough information concerning the powers and whereabouts of Grindelwald. He was currently holed up in some ancient magical castle in Bavaria, biding his time, like any self-respecting villain would do in the winter time. 

As with most megalomaniacs, his endless ambitions (not to mention magical hissy-fits) were starting to pall on his followers. They were also threatening to draw more unwanted attention to the wizarding world, which was even more dangerous. All in all, the mad wizard Grindelwald was just bad for business.

Tom told his parents he would be spending Christmas on a wealthy classmate’s estate in Ireland. Instead, armed with a list of ex-Slytherin and Durmstrang "references," he finagled a prized invitation to a holiday ball at Castle Grindelwald. It wasn’t very difficult, really – young, handsome, rich, Slytherin... The fact was, old Grindelwald had a weakness for pretty things, male or female. And Tom always had managed to stand out in a crowd. He certainly stood out in a crowded castle ballroom, catching the eye of the evil overlord, himself.

“You are very lovely,” Grindelwald murmured after midnight, when he began to undress young Tom in the privacy of his cavernous bedchamber. 

“Mmmm, thank you, Sir,” Tom murmured politely. Although he preferred females, Tom had nothing against sex with a man, however, not this man. He was old, decrepit and in a strange way reminded him of his Grandfather Gaunt. The man was truly repulsive. 

But Tom deliberately continued his faint moans of false ecstasy, and Grindelwald grew even more aroused. Tom was proud of his manipulative Slytherin wiles. In a few moments it would all be over, anyhow.

“Such a beautiful boy,” the old villain breathed, “Beautiful!” He brushed gnarled fingers across smooth, bare skin.

Knowing it was time, Tom whispered the seven most difficult words he would ever say in his life. “May I touch you, as well, Sir?”

“Ah, yes!”

With one gentle hand, he caressed a withered flank – while with another hand, he swiftly removed the tiny vial of Basilisk venom from his family ring, stabbing it swiftly into Grindelwald’s flesh.

 

A few seconds later, as the old wizard gave his final death gurgle, Tom mused what life might be like had he ever decided to be a megalomaniac, himself. He certainly had the ability. Killing this idiot simply proved how easy it could be to outwit the evil competition and pursue his own dark agenda. But, no. He hardly wanted a life of looking over his shoulder for every new assassin. And what for? He had all the things he wanted...or he would, eventually. 

He dressed, threw on his invisibility cloak, and made his way through one of the pathetically non-secretive secret passages in the castle. (Snake portraits and sculptures were always so delighted to chat with a parselmouth)

Days later, he stood in the Ministry of Magic to receive his Order of Merlin, First Class. His mother stood proudly at his side (although she and his father had both screamed holy murder at him for risking his life so carelessly. Later on, though, Dad admitted he was proud that his son had such bollocks, but if he ever pulled suck a stunt again, he wasn’t too old to be put over his knee.)

Tom noticed, with some satisfaction, that Dumbledore seemed impressed, although, just a bit jealous for stealing his own thunder.

Nevertheless, the “foolish stunt” guaranteed Tom a place in the Auror Academy, and three years later, he was given the position of Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts. 

He was consistently, the most popular teacher at the school. His students all adored him, and he continued to promote the integration of muggleborns in the highest levels of wizarding society. As a Slytherin hero, his opinions held weight.

But he remained unattached while his old school friends married and even went on to have grandchildren. Somehow, he never managed to meet a person who cold touch his heart. It would take a full twenty-five years until he would meet the woman he was to fall in love with and marry.

Her name was Lily Evans.


	3. 3."Harry"

  
Author's notes: If Merope Gaunt had been born a powerful witch instead of a squib, how might history have changed? (Written for The Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest#12) Slash and Het Pairings: Harry/Severus, some Harry/DracoMG/TR, mention of TMR/LE. Indirect mention of Mpreg. AU  


* * *

"HARRY"

 

The wars in the muggle world came and went, but the wizarding world had known only peace for the past half-century.

Harry Riddle grew up quite happily in a muggle mansion in the village of Little Hangleton. He was surrounded by doting grandparents, two annoying little sisters and his loving Mum and Dad.

Dad had just been re-elected for a second term as Minister of Magic during Harry’s final year at Hogwarts. Mum, who still taught Charms, had been ever so pleased when her oldest child had been sorted into Gryffindor. Later, she was less than pleased at her husband’s triumphant sneering when the twins, Violet and Daisy, were both sorted into Slytherin.

It was a good life for the Riddle family, a happy life. Harry was a whiz on a broom, and he was the only one of his siblings who inherited the ability to speak parseltongue. At seventeen, he showed every sign of the powerful wizard he was destined to become.

But Harry had a problem. He had fallen in love with a pureblood wizard named Draco Malfoy. Normally, this would not be a problem. Father had decided that two generations were enough to reconsider adding an occasional pureblood to the family gene pool.

But the Malfoys were a special case. While handsome and powerful, themselves – they had done quite more than the usual amount of intermarrying in the past few decades. Lucius and Narcissa were second cousins, as were their parents, and their grandparents were double-first cousins.

No, it was unacceptable, Dad decreed firmly. Find another nice boy, he commanded gently. Surely, there were enough half-bloods and muggleborns in that Gryffindor House. Mum just sighed sadly, and nodded her agreement. It would be different had the two boys never intended to have children, but Malfoy was the only heir. 

Draco was almost as devastated as Harry, but for other reasons. Sure, he was fond of the good-looking Gryffindor seeker. The sex was terrific, of course. But the real point of marrying Harry had to do with the fact that his family was even more powerful and influential than his own. Sure, he’d miss his gorgeous lover, but it would be more painful to alienate the Minister of Magic. It was time to move on...after one last fuck, that is.

“I don’t want to give you up, Draco!” Harry sobbed in bed on their final night together.

“We have to, sweetie,” Draco shrugged. Already, he was deciding upon his next conquest – perhaps that cute Ravenclaw boy.”

Harry might have been madly in love, but he had enough Riddle pride to not become Love’s Bitch. The next morning he stumbled back to the Gryffindor dormitory with dried tears and a new resolve to rise above heartache. He could be like Dad, wait for decades and maybe another love would come along. But there would be no one else like Draco. His icy blond beauty, his amusing snobbery, his snarky wit- 

Ah, wait. Okay, maybe one person was snarkier than Draco. But he didn’t count. Sure he had an incredibly sexy voice, and a delicious sneer, but he wasn’t pretty like Draco. And like Grandma Merope, he loved to be surrounded by pretty things.

Although, the man’s body was nice and tight, and that black hair was awfully silky. And hadn’t Draco always teased him about the hard-on he still occasionally got in Potions class?

No. Forget it. Snape wasn’t his type. Besides, Snape hated all Gryffindors. Well, to be honest, Snape hated everyone. He even thought Draco was a pain in the ass. In fact, the only Hogwarts students the Head of Slytherin House seemed to tolerate at all, were Daisy and Violet Riddle. 

His twelve year old sisters were true Slytherins. They had the devious mind of Grandma Merope with the gorgeous looks of Lily Evans. Harry pitied any man who was destined to catch the eye of either twin. The man would never stand a chance.

But what Harry didn’t know was that his two sisters were currently hatching one of their devious plans right now. The two girls adored their big brother. They had known all along from their vantage point in Slytherin House that Draco had been using their beloved Harrykins. From the House grapevine they knew the moment their brother was receiving the heave-ho from his ex-lover. And they resented the Albino Snot for breaking their brother’s sweet, pure and dopey heart.

Draco would pay, big-time. But at the moment, there were bigger fish to fry. They had to find Harry another boyfriend fast, before romantic rigor mortis set in. Obviously, anyone who could discard their precious sibling without a second thought, could never have really loved him. In the first place.

“Let’s find him his true love,” declared Daisy.

“Ooh, yes!” agreed Violet.

“Um, how?”

“Soul Mate Potion?”

“Perfect!”

Now the Soul Mate Potion was exceedingly rare, and only worked if the one you seek is someone you’ve already met. Your mind, in other words, must already recognize the person. Even as a casual acquaintance. The downside, of course, is that most people never meet their soul mates. It’s all a matter of geography and time. Your soul mate could live in East Poodlehump, Arkansas, or Ulan Bator. And terribly often, soul mates are born fifty years too early, or one hundred years too late. All in all, the Soul Mate Potion is seldom used because the results can be too upsetting.

Also, it is a very rare concoction and only the most skilled potion masters are capable of brewing it.

Or you have to have a grandmother who has access to a really, really old vial of the stuff. And you have to owl her for it in the middle of the night. And she has to think it’s a great idea. And then, she has to ask your dad. And since both of them are Slytherins, they each agree it’s a fine idea. Naturally, neither of them want to tell Mummy, as she would be rather pissed off about the entire thing.

“So I repeat,” urged Tom Riddle in the owl to his daughters, “Do NOT breathe a word of this to your Mother! And keep me informed! Love, Daddy.”

* * * * * * * * * * 

“What do you two young ladies have in that mug?” inquired Snape icily. 

“Um, actually, Professor, we were bringing our dear brother a nice bit of pumpkin juice. He seems so under the weather.”

“Your lazy Gryffindor brother is perfectly capable of summoning a house elf for his own pumpkin juice! Why doesn’t anyone ever offer ME a mug of pumpkin juice?”

“But we have to give this while it’s still cold-“ protested Daisy.

Snape sneered and grabbed the glass. “You’ve spiked it with fire whiskey, again, haven’t you! What did I tell you about bringing liquor in the dorms?”

“N-no, Professor! It, um, really IS pumpkin juice this time!”

“Hmm, why don’t I believe you? I can smell the alcohol from here!”

Well, that much was true. The essences in the potion required alcohol to trigger full potency. The sisters tried to hide the mug from Snape’s prying eyes. But it was too late, of course.

“Why don’t I just taste it myself and see if you’re lying, ladies?” Deftly, the man grabbed the mug from Violet and took a delicate sip. “Yes, definitely fire whiskey with a hint of something...else. Something rare and very old-“

The twins watched in horror as Snape dropped the mug, letting it crash to the stone floor. Well, so they were busted. This was worth several detentions, to be sure.

Unexpectedly, Snape jerked his head up. “Harry?” he rasped. “Why am I seeing Harry?”

The two sisters exchanged disbelieving glances. HARRY????

Oh. Fuck.

“What potion is this? Tell me!” the man roared. “What potion?”

With identical squeaks of panic, the two sisters fled the dungeons and ran all the way to the Owlery. They scribbled a hasty note:

“Daddy – Snape accidentally took potion. Saw soul mate. It’s Harry. Please advise. Love, Us.”

Fifteen minutes later, a powerful Ministry Express Owl returned with a parchment:

“Ladies – Prof. Snape is a halfblood. He’s powerful and gifted. I approve completely. Now finish the business. Love, Daddy.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Moments later, the two girls were in the Gryffindor common room. Sobbing their eyes out in the arms of their concerned older brother. Since none of Harry’s housemates wanted to be within a twelve-mile radius of two sobbing Slytherins, they had the large, comfortable room to themselves.

“What’s the matter, sweeties?” He was all tenderness and brotherly concern. His sisters seldom cried, and it was a scary sight, to be sure.

“You’re gonna be mad!”

“No I won’t, I promise.”

Daisy’s lower lip trembled skillfully. “We only did it because we love you!”

“Yes! We love you so much, and wanted you to be happy,” whimpered Violet with even greater poignancy.

Knowing the twins, Harry wasn’t really buying it, but he knew they truly cared about him. 

“Just tell me what you little monsters did this time,” he sighed.

“We made you a Soul Mate Potion-“

“But Snape grabbed it from us-“

“Yeah, and he DRANK it ‘cause he thought it was fire whiskey...which it was, sort of-“

“The point is, he drank the potion, and he saw YOU-“

“You’re his soul mate, but he doesn’t know that-“

“Because he doesn’t know it’s a Soul Mate Potion-“

Harry was vaguely reminded of the Weasley twins, but only for a second, because that’s all it took to actually hit him:

“Snape is my fucking soul mate??”

It’s difficult to describe the spectrum of emotions coursing through Harry’s mind for the next few moments. Suffice it to say, the shock soon melted into acceptance, even relief.

He had a soul mate. It wasn’t Draco, after all. The tormented grief he’d felt over the beautiful blond had inexplicably evaporated. He had a soul mate, and it was Severus Snape, a man he had given up on ever having a chance with, years ago. In truth, he’d always had a silly schoolboy crush on the man. Now, he could finally allow himself enjoy the possibilities that had suddenly opened up for him.

“Okay, then,” he murmured to his little sisters. “I think I’ll visit the dungeons now.”

“Go get your man!”

“Yeah, Harry. Go get down to business, and start making us little nieces and nephews with cute, giant honkers!”

“Shut up,” Harry grinned amiably.

* * * * * * * * * *

TEN MINUTES LATER:

Harry didn’t even bother to knock on the door to Snape’s quarters. Privacy wards had no effect on soul mates.

When the door swung open without any resistance, he felt a frisson of delight. It proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the deliciously surly potions master was, indeed, his soul mate.

“Riddle!” growled the above-mentioned Slytherin from his seat at the fireplace. He’d spent the past hour staring into the flames, wondering what the hell was going on. Why did Harry appear in his vision. He didn’t dare dream the possible reason. Severus Snape didn’t get sweet, brilliant, sexy boys as his soul mate. Severus Snape didn’t have a soul mate. Who wanted a nasty, ugly thing like him, anyhow? 

And yet...

Harry Riddle had just sailed in through the warded double-doors of his quarters. It could only mean one thing.

“Riddle!” he rasped. “Do you always barge into a professor’s rooms without knocking first?”

Harry gave a nervous grin, and decided the older man looked pretty hot right now. He drew a breath and decided to get the thing over with.

“So, I suppose you figured out that we’re soulmates, right?”

There was a long, potent silence. 

Finally, Snape stared up at him with an odd glimmer in his black eyes. “So I understand.”

“Where do we go from here, do you suppose?” Harry found himself edging closer and closer to his mate.

“Are you finished with young Malfoy?”

“Very much so.”

“I mention this because I have a rather strong aversion to sharing.”

“I agree completely, Professor,” Harry decided to be bold, and sat right down in the older man’s lap, straddling his thighs.

“Let me point out that this is probably the moment to call each other by our first names,” Snape’s hands came around to grasp the boys buttocks.

“Severus!” Harry murmured before leaning in to rest his cheek against his soul mate’s neck.

“Ah, much better!”

“Severus,” he sighed with newfound contentment at the unexpected turn their lives had taken in less than an hour. With the new confidence of possession, he boldly initiated the first kiss. 

Severus gave a startled moan, and sank into the kiss, quickly establishing his dominance. “You’re mine now, Harry.”

“Yes, yours!”

The kissing became more frantic, more urgent, more frenzied than before. Severus gave a growl, and swept Harry up in his arms. They disappeared into the cool, dark bedchamber beyond.

A few moments later, there were only heightened cries and louder, passionate moans. The shouts of “Oh, Merlin!” and “More!” and “Yes!” didn’t last very long...the first time. The second and third time, however, went on and on.

Only a very brave house elf would bear witness to the rather arousing sight the very next morning. Two dark-haired men wrapped contentedly in each other’s arms, sound asleep in a tangle of silken sheets, with faint smiles on their faces.

The smiles of utter happiness..

* * * * * * * * * * 

TWELVE YEARS LATER:

TO: MR. TOMMY RIDDLE-SNAPE,  
THE ANNOYINGLY CHEERFUL BEDROOM,  
THE DUNGEONS,  
HOGWARTS

Dear Mr. Riddle-Snape,

We are pleased to offer you a place in our school...


End file.
